The Cell

By M. Willow

The scamper of feet, the feel of claws, the coldness that permeated the blond to the bone. He was helpless as he regained consciousness.  He opened his eyes and saw nothing but blackness, smelt the putrid scent.  His breath caught in his throat when he realized what it represented.  He was blind--blind, alone, scared.  His only company the many rats that surrounded him. 

He had regained consciousness before.  Woke up angry with pain that touched him from head to toe.  He had shivered for hours, calling his friend’s name, shaking in panic when Starsky didn’t answer.  Now he felt the panic engulf him yet again as he shouted for his partner and received no reply.  No reply except the sound of rats.

He moved to sit up.  It was dangerous to lay in this room of rats.  Again he felt one come near and wondered how many times he had been bitten while he lay there in the cold, damp cell—alone, waiting to die.  He wanted to care about his impending death, but without Starsky, what did it matter?  Still, he moved until his back was leaned against a wall, his eyes searching to no avail for Starsky.

It seemed like hours ago when they had been driving down a deserted road.  Laughing, talking, ribbing each other, and planning for the weekend.  But then the car had come, deliberately hitting them in the rear—deliberately forcing them from the road. His last vision was seeing the terrified look on his friend’s face.  They had locked eyes, saying their final goodbyes, and then his head hit glass and blackness stood in its place. 

Now he sat in the cell—listening.  Hoping against hope that his partner was still alive, somehow.   Somehow.  It was all he had--hope.   Starsky’s death terrified him more than being blind.  He could live with that if Starsky lived.  He closed his eyes and slept.

The scamper of feet, the touch of claws, the headache that wouldn’t stop, and then a new sound—a sigh, a moan, and then his name called in hushed tones.

“Hutch, Hutch.”

He fought for consciousness, the voice so familiar calling him back to life, to hope.  It was Starsky’s voice.  

“Hutch, Hutch.”

He struggled to open his eyes, but remembered he was blind and so there was no need.    He moved his body, seeking the voice, the pain ripping through him, the cold becoming colder, but now he was not alone. 

“Starsky,” he said tentatively as if the voice could be a dream and he still alone in the cell.

“Hutch, are you alright?”

Hutch paused, not trusting his voice.  He still couldn’t believe Starsky was alive, but the voice, rough, in pain, was reassuring.  It was Starsky.

“I’m blind,” he said.

“No you’re not.  It’s pitch black Hutch.  I can’t see my hands in front of my face.”

“You okay?” Hutch asked, even though he knew the answer.  He could hear the pain in his friend’s voice.

“I’m okay.  Just a little bruised.  They beat me a little around the edges.”

Hutch moved to get up, his body screaming against the effort.  “I’m coming.  I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“You can’t Hutch.  They got me in a different cell.”

Hutch scampered toward the voice, in spite of the fruitlessness of the effort.  “I’m coming.  Need to see if you’re okay.”

“They got me tied on the other side of this damn cell that I’m in Hutch.  Won’t do you any good to get over here.”

Hutch laid back down in despair.  He needed to touch Starsky, feel the steady beat of his heart, feel the closeness they enjoyed and thrived on.  As it was, he felt no connection to his partner.  It was wrong, so wrong.   Their psychic connection— buried behind a locked door, a dark room.  He was alone in spite of the presence of Starsky.

“You said they beat you?  Why?” he asked.

“Wanted the location of Tim Bedford.”

Tim Bedford was a man locked away in a safe house.  The man had witnessed a mob hit almost a year ago.  He had sought Starsky out because he was an old friend.  He wouldn’t trust anyone else with his safety.  Less than a week ago they had hidden the man in a place that only he knew the location of.  Starsky had insisted upon not knowing because it seemed obvious that the mob would come after him next and he didn’t want to take the chance with his friend’s life.  Now the brunet had been beaten because of it.

“What are we going to do, Starsky?  It’s just a matter of time when they’ll come for me.”

“We gotta tell them.  It’s our only hope.”

Hutch moaned in response.  It was not like Starsky to give in so easily.  Giving in.  Well, that’s what he did.  He had given in once before just for a fix.  He steadied his voice.

“Not this time, Starsk.  Not this time.”

“We’re dead men if you don’t tell.  They’ll gonna come back and beat us till we’re dead.”

Hutch shuddered at the thought.  He could deal with his own death, but not Starsky.  Not Starsky a man closer to him than anyone on the planet.  His body shook with pain.

“Is that why I’m in so much pain?  Don’t remember much.  Just the car accident.” Hutch rasped. 

He listened to his friend cough a few times and his mind wandered to the years they’d spent together.  There were some who called them the twins.  Twins, because they were always together.  Always knew how the other felt.  Spoke without words.  It was darn right spooky how they could read each other’s mind.  Darn right spooky.  But now he had only four senses.  The darkness took away one—his ability to see, but stranger still, he didn’t feel that connection now.  Perhaps it was because he was dying.  Maybe when death was at your doorstep you lost some of your abilities.  Still, this one hurt more than his inability to see.

He heard the whispered voice.

“They beat you too.  I thought they were gonna kill you, Hutch.  I thought they were gonna kill you.”

“I don’t remember, but I’m okay. Starsk.  It’s still me and thee.”

Again a cough and a whispered reply.  “Yes, me and you.” 

Hutch let his body collapse to the floor and wondered if he had been beaten so badly that he had started to hallucinate.  Or maybe he was dead and this was his own private hell.  Hell for him would be a place without Starsky.

“I’m gonna try to get to you.  Get us out.” He said, moving his weak body toward the voice of his best friend yet again.

“You’ll never make it.  Just tell them what they want to know.  Maybe we’ll have a chance.”

“Can’t Starsk.  Made a promise to you.  No way I’m breaking it.  No way is my last promise to you going to be broken.”

A rat ran across Hutch’s hand.  He felt the sharp claws and shrunk back involuntarily. The rat continued on its way.  He thought of how he would be found—dead, eaten by rats, unrecognizable to those who loved him.  He leaned over and retched violently, the putrid smell of the cell finally getting to him.  

Now he was even weaker and gave up his quest to move.  He heard sounds of footsteps coming toward them and held his breath in anticipation.  Would they now give him drugs to speak once they realized there was no other choice?   He concentrated and was able to control his breaths.  No way would he look afraid. He would face death with dignity.

“They’re comin’ Hutch.  You gotta tell them.  I would if I could.  Let the cops protect Tim.”

Again Hutch shuddered, cursing himself in spite of it.  They had lost a witness once.  They had promised him that they would protect him.   He could still see the angry face of Huggy; see the sad child who had just lost the most important man in her life.  Tim would die if he told.  Not even Dobey knew where Tim was.

“Not this time.  Not this time.” He said.  There was no way he’d look at Tim’s child and tell her that he’d been the cause of her father’s death.  There was no way he’d breath his last knowing he had broken a promise.

“No.  I promised you.”

“To hell with promises.  I want to live.  Maybe if we tell we can get to Tim in time.  Warn him.”

Hutch sat silently.  The rats ran as the footsteps grew closer.  Hutch held his breath until he heard the door open.  It was seconds before he realized it hadn’t been his door.

“Now listen up, Hutchinson.  We’re gonna get that information from you one way or the other.  Now you have two choices.  We can kill your friend here. Or you can tell us.”

Hutch knew what would happen.  He would be forced to listen as the other cried in pain.  He’d be forced to know that he was the cause of it.  Still, he was a dead man in either course.  But Tim Bedford would live.  He’d live and the men responsible for his death would pay even if he wasn’t around to enjoy it.

“Then kill him if you must,” he said.  And his body convulsed again as he dry heaved. 

“Grab him by that curly hair and bring him over here.”

Hutch heard a scuffle and then the screams.  Blood curdling screams.  His name called over and over.  “Hutch, don’t let them do this to me.  Don’t let me die this way.   Please, Hutch, tell them.  They’re killing me.  No…No…Oh god, no.”

Hutch was shaking now.  The familiar voice ringing in his ear his logic fighting that familiarity.  Dear God wake me up from this nightmare.  Don’t make me have to listen.  Please, don’t make this the last sound I hear.”

“Stop, stop, stop.” Hutch shouted, his hands over his ears, his head shaking.

The gruff voice, “Then tell us.  Tell us, or your friend will get more of this.”

“I can’t,” Hutch stuttered.  “Just don’t do this.  Can’t you see I can’t?”

“Then listen while your friend dies.”

The screaming continued.  Screams that ripped through him, making him wish he was the man in the other cell.  Anything to escape the screams—screams of accusation, hate, disgust, all rolled into the man on the other side of the cell.  The man he could not comfort. He was so confused, his thought muddled by pain and sheer terror.  Still, he had to keep his wits about him.  Had to for Starsky’s sake.  For the promise he had made.

“You listenin’ pig?” the gruff voice said.  “Prepare to say goodbye.”

“No.  No.  Do what you want, but I’m not talking.  Not this time.” Hutch shouted.

Hutch stood on weak legs, adrenalin propelling him across the room.  He felt the hard bars of the cell, reaching his hands through it, touching nothing but air.  He slid to the floor, curling into a ball.  He didn’t care what happened to him now.

“Kill him.” The gruff voice ordered.  And Hutch slid into unconsciousness.

“Hutch, Hutch.”  

“Hutch, Hutch.  Wake up for me buddy.”

Hutch heard the familiar voice, felt the familiar hands on his face, but he didn’t want to wake up.  Not ever.

“Hutch, listen to me.  You gonna be alright.”

But he knew he wouldn’t be.  He couldn’t go through that again.  Couldn’t wake with the hope and dreams that his friend was alive.

“Hutch let me see those baby blues.  You’re in the hospital.  You’re okay.”

But it was a trick.  Hutch knew it.  It was just another way to get the information from him. Another trick.  The blond recalled the conversation he’d had with Starsky before the accident. 

“Hutch, I want you to be the only person who knows where Tim is.  They’re gonna come after me when they realize Tim is an old friend.  You gotta promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t tell where Tim is.  I made a promise to his wife that I’d keep him safe.  Don’t want to go back on that promise ever again.  Don’t want a child growing up without a dad.”

Both men recalled the last promise they had made that ended with a dead man and them without a badge.  This time would be different.  He made the promise.  Now he felt the warmth of the room, the comforting embrace of his friend.  He’d promised Starsky, so he kept his eyes closed.

“Hutch, listen to me.  Tim is okay.  He’s okay because you kept your promise to me.  You didn’t tell.  We found you in time.”

Hutch was puzzled.  Was it true?  Was he really in a hospital and Tim safe somewhere?  But could he trust the voice after what he’d gone through—they had gone through to get the information out of him.

“Hutch, you gotta wake up.  Please...I don’t know what I’d do if you died.  It’s always been me and thee and I don’t know how to live without the thee.”

Hutch wanted to take the chance.  Wanted to open his eyes and see the face of his best friend, his partner.  But it could be another trick.

“Me and thee.” Starsky said.

And Hutch recalled the cold cell when he had said those words only to hear them echoed incorrectly.  The man had said ‘Me and you’ and Hutch had the final confirmation that it wasn’t Starsky.  The thought had nearly driven him insane.  He had to continue to talk to that voice, pretending he didn’t know, hoping against hope that Starsky had somehow survived the car crash and was looking for him now.  Hoping against hope that he wasn’t in a cell somewhere else—alone and dying.

“Please, Hutch.  I love you.  Wake up.”

Hutch heard the urgency in the words.  He felt the connection and opened his eyes and saw the deep blue eyes of his partner.  Starsky was smiling, looking down at him, caressing his face with a shaky hand.  He clung to those eyes as he regained consciousness. 

“You’re alive,” he rasped when he trusted his voice, trusted the man sitting before him now. 

“That’s my line.” Starsky said, tears spilling down his face.  “I thought you were dead, Hutch.  I woke up and found myself in a ditch.  I looked for you.  Looked for you for hours.  Then I knew they had you and spent five days trying to find ya.  Everybody told me to give up.  That you were dead.  But I knew.  I knew.”

Hutch looked around the room, his hand clasping Starsky’s as he familiarized himself with his surroundings.  It was a typical hospital room, but the welcoming sunlight that cast itself in ribbons across the room warmed him, made him feel that everything was real.  Starsky was actually here.  He was no longer locked in a cell filled with rats and a man pretending to be his partner.

:”Dear God.  I was so afraid,” he said.

“I know.  But I found you. You’re safe now.”  Starsky held the blond’s hand even tighter, like he could anchor him there just by his touch.

“But how?  How did you find me?”

“A snitch.  One of the guys holding you went around braggin’ that they were playin’ a joke on some cop they had kidnapped.  Said it was so funny how they had this guy impersonate his partner’s voice.  Said they had beaten the cop and found out he was the only one who knew where Tim was located.” 

“Thank God.  You’re here.  I knew it wasn’t you, but it was still hard to listen.”

Starsky’s bright blue eyes met Hutch’s.  “How did you know?”

“I couldn’t feel you,” Hutch replied.

Starsky looked at him in puzzlement.  Hutch continued.  “There was no connection.  At first I thought it was because you were in another cell and it was dark.  But then I knew it was because I couldn’t feel you, couldn’t sense your presence.”

Tears spilled down the brunet’s face and Hutch pulled him into a tight embrace.  He listened as Starsky fought for control and then the small, quiet voice that meant everything to him spoke. 

“It was the same reason I knew you weren’t dead.  I could still feel you.”

Fin